The Cure By Edgar Albert Guest

The Cure

When you can’t get her out of your head, young man,
And you hate what you have to do;
And you shirk every task that you find you can,
And the others you hurry through.
When all you can see is the time to quit,
(I know how each symptom goes),
There’s only one way to get over it,
The next time you see her—propose.

When you think when you’re called to the telephone
That hers is the voice you’ll hear,
And because it isn’t, you sigh and groan;
When you find that your brain’s not clear
And you can’t add figures or write a bit
When the columns are all awhirl,
There’s only one way to get over it,
And that is to marry the girl.

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